Broken Glass: 2 - Phantomwise
by PrinzessinEilis
Summary: The thing about the Deathly Hallows is that they want to kill you.
1. Chapter 1

When the Brothers Peverell received their gifts from Death, it was without the knowledge that these gifts were created with the purpose of bringing Them back to Him.

It was no coincidence that the First Brother lost his life soon after receiving his gift. For the First Brother was arrogant, desiring to be equal to Death in power. But the First Brother did not understand that true power must come from within and that the wand must match this innate potential. The first brother was clever and cunning, but he was impotent compared to the power with which the Wand of elder wood was impregnated, and so the Wand ever searched for a stronger master. The wand poisoned the mind of the First Brother with reckless arrogance and delusions of grandeur; of omnipotence and invincibility as it drove the First Brother to battle again and again as the Wand searched for a stronger wielder.

All Wizards could feel the pulse of power that the Wand released as it called for the strongest among them, though they could not see from whence the call originated. Many submitted to the First Brother, believing him to truly be the most powerful wizard of his time, as he thought of himself, but those with more power than the First Brother were enticed to challenge him, as the wand desired the First Brother's death so it may have a more worthy master. These adversaries were felled by the First Brother, as he was skilled, even if he was not their equal in potential. Still, the magic of the wand poisoned his mind, enhancing the arrogance with which the First Brother made his demand of Death, and, as Death intended, it was this very arrogance that betrayed the First Brother in the end.

The delusions that he could not be bested caused the First Brother to forgo defence and leave himself ever unguarded even as he invited adversaries to try to best him. Another wizard heard such boasting, and, not intimidated by his power but rather incised to take his place, the wizard stole the Elder Wand while the First Brother slept, and slit his throat so that he may not be challenged as the most powerful wizard of the time.

And so, Death claimed the First Brother, and the Wand cycled through wielders in this way as it searched in vain for a master powerful enough to truly be worthy of it. For the Wand was made, as the First Brother commanded, to be equal in power to Death himself, and so only Death may truly wield it.

All those arrogant enough, as the First Brother had been, to try to put themselves on a level with Death shall too meet this end. And so they did.

It was no coincidence that Second Brother, too, met his end, despite being blessed, as he was, by Death. For the Second Brother was so irreverent that he wished to make Death itself of no consequence. But the Second Brother did not understand that Death was as indomitable as it was immutable, and no magic could stop or reverse it; not for-ever.

The Stone given to the Second Brother by Death was more patient than was the Elder Wand, as the Stone could not call out to others to do its bidding like the Wand. Instead, the Stone used its powers not to blind the Second Brother to Death, but to seduce him with It.

The Second Brother used the stone to call forth the spectre of his long-dead beloved, but, as the Wand did not truly have the power to make its wielder stronger than they were, neither did the Stone have the power to reverse a spirit through the Veil of Death. Rather, it drew on the mind of the Second Brother to conjure an image of the Dead, as they were remembered, and it was with this much-loved face that the Stone spoke to the Second Brother.

It taught the Second Brother that Death could not be reversed, even though magic, and although he could see his lover's face and hear her voice, she could not join him in the living world. But the Second Brother so longed for his lover that the Stone soon drove him to addiction, and the desire he had to be with her overpowered all others. All his time, he spent with her, and though he tried to live his life so that he could believe she was with him in it, she beckoned him that if only he joined her on the other side, she could hold him in her arms once more, and they could truly be together.

Over time, the Stone so wore him down that the Second Brother forgot his ambitions and could tolerate no company but his beloved. His life began to revolve around his departed lover and nothing else until eventually nothing in the living world could tempt him to remain one second longer.

And so, Death claimed the Second Brother who surrendered himself, as shamed and degraded as he once sought to make Death.

The Stone fell into obscurity, its powers concealed from common knowledge, but any who may know the Stone for what it is and who may seek to use it to change the nature of Death in this world shall feel its call stronger than any others until they, too, meet this end. And so they did.

The gift given the Third Brother, though, was different, for it was Death's _own_ cloak, not one custom made with Death's intent. The Cloak was made for Death himself, and so had no need to call its wearer to the other world. And so it was that the Third Brother evaded Death's grasp until his life was at its natural end, for the Cloak could not influence the Third Brother to an end it could not also grant Death.

The Deathly Hallows, as the gifts were called after they had fallen into legend, could only influence their users with the abilities for which they were made, and there were none who held the Cloak who wished to be as unseen and inconsequential as the Dead. No matter how the Cloak tempted wizards with its power, none used it to become as Death, and so the vicious artefact could not fulfil its purpose with the Third Son, who alone was the only of the Three Peverells to truly best Death.

Death got his revenge on the Third Brother, however, after he had passed through the veil, in the form of the Third Brother's Son.

For the Cloak was made for Death, and only to Death himself were the benefits of its powers made clear and desirable. Though none who have held the Cloak since it left Death's back have desired to Usurp him, as did the elder two of the Brothers Peverell, the true potential of the Cloak was seen when, many decades after the Third Brother departed this world, his Son collected all the Deathly Hallows together under his own care to become, however unintentionally, the Master of Death. And the Master of Death _was_ as Death, and so finally the Cloak had its Master, as well.

The Master of Death, who was as Death, began to feel uncomfortable under the eyes of the living. Though he had used the Cloak for many years to achieve his own ends, now, as never before, the peace of invisibility that the Cloak granted him became an end in itself. The Son began to feel as Death, who was as the Dead until he soon forgot that he was of the living world at all. The Son forgot how it felt to be gazed upon, and he forgot his worldly discomforts for the Dead cannot feel.

And so it was that Death claimed the Son of the Third Brother, who, although he was Master of Death, chose to pass through the veil in peace, for he could no longer tell the difference between the worlds of the Living and the Dead.

The Brothers Peverell and their heirs did not truly understand that Death cannot be tricked or circumvented. They did not understand that the gifts He bestowed upon Them, though they seemed to work against Him, would bring their Masters to His feet in due time, and that those who would be as Death cannot avoid Him, for He is himself as the Dead, and so too shall they be.

And so they were.


	2. Part One, Chapter One

__Hagrid's hut loomed out of the darkness. There were no lights, no sound of Fang scrabbling at the door, his bark booming in welcome. All those visits to Hagrid, and the gleam of the copper kettle on the fire, and rock cakes and giant grubs, and his great bearded face, and Ron vomiting slugs, and Hermione helping him save Norbert . . . He moved on, and now he reached the edge of the forest, and he stopped.*__

 _ _Draco Malfoy stood leaning against a decrepit tree, arms wrapped around himself as if in warmth or support, staring, trembling, out at the swarm of dementors that glided, weaving through the forest. At the soft sound of Harry's feet on the grass, he startled, violently and whirled around, thrusting his mother's borrowed wand out in front of him, curse visible on his lips before he realised who it was that had appeared.__

 _ _"Potter," he choked out hoarsely, his voice still rough from the smoke of the Fiendfyre.__

 _ _"What are you doing out here?" Harry interrupted warily. His eyes flicked up to the spectral figures in the trees. He had to get through to where Voldemort was waiting, but he couldn't be sure of his safe passage. Though, if Malfoy was here... "Are you to escort me to your Master?" He'd intended for his voice to come out bitter and accusing, but it only sounded resigned.__

 _ _"No!" Malfoy defended, voice echoing in the silence of the Forbidden Forest. Both boys scanned the woods nervously for Death Eaters. In a quieter voice, the blond continued, "I need to find my parents."__

 _ _Harry sighed. "Last I saw, Lucius was in the Shrieking Shack with Voldemort," he ignored Malfoy's flinch, "but neither of them was there a few minutes ago, so I have no idea where your father is, now. I only know Voldemort is through there," he pointed into the forest. "I don't know if your parents are with him."__

 _ _"You're going to him," Malfoy deduced. Harry could see in his eyes that he wanted to be as surprised as Harry wanted to be angry. Like Harry, though, he wasn't.__

 _ _Harry nodded. "Time's running out. Voldemort knows I'm coming to meet him; he's expecting me. Isn't this what you and Crabbe, and Goyle wanted back in the Room of Requirement? You were gonna bring me in, weren't you? Well, here I am. There's a reward if you bring me in yourself, isn't there?" He held his arm out, gesturing Draco to lead the way, but the blond shook his head.__

 _ _"I didn't want to take you in."__

 _ _Harry scoffed. "Crabbe said-"__

 _ _"Crabbe told you what I told__ him _ _. That doesn't mean it was the truth."__

 _ _"So you didn't mean to-"__

 _ _"I didn't mean for__ any _ _of that!" Draco erupted, slightly quieter than his first outburst. He glanced around reflexively anyway but didn't pause before continuing. "We were trying to find you, that's true. We were waiting by the Room of Hidden Things in the hope that you would come there, for whatever reason. I didn't know about the diadem until you mentioned it; though I figured that if you were looking for it, it must have been important. Look... I went to find you to make sure no one else did. I tried to find you to__ make sure _ _you got away safely. If it were anyone else, I knew they'd take you to... Or else kill you outright. I brought Crabbe and Goyle to vouch for my whereabouts so none of the others would doubt my loyalties. I was going to make it look like we tried to stop you and you got away. We were going to fail, but our loyalties wouldn't have been questioned. I thought I could control them. I didn't expect Crabbe to act on his own. I'm sorry."__

 _ _Harry's breath left him all at once, a weight he didn't know he had been carrying suddenly lifting. He couldn't remember if he'd ever actually gotten an apology from Malfoy before. He thought he must have, last year when they were...__

 _ _Still. "I don't blame you," he tried, but Draco shook his head, stepping closer, closing the space between them.__

 _ _"Not just for Crabbe," he elaborated. "For everything. For this whole thing. This war. D- Dumbledore and, and what happened last year. For... your godfather, and Cedric, and the … bullying. Everything. I … I didn't know any better. Then. But I... I know now that I fucked up. That everything I've done, that my father has done, that my family has done has been__ wrong _ _, and there's no justice for any of that. I know that if I don't die tonight, I'll go to Azkaban. I know that. I deserve that. We all do. I just wanted you to know, before... whatever happens, happens... that I am sorry." Throughout this speech, Draco avoided Harry's eyes, staring at the sweat-stained collar of Harry's shirt, but now he looked up, beseechingly. "Don't go in there," he begged. "He'll kill you if you do."__

 _ _"I have to face him. Voldemort has to die," Harry explained sadly, pitying the desperation on the other boy's face.__

 _ _"And he will! It's a battle, Harry! One way or another, he'll die tonight, but__ you _ _don't ha-"__

 _ _"He can't die if I'm alive."__

 _ _There. The fear that had been eating away at him for the last two years. The knowledge that had been freezing his stomach since he left Snape's body.__

 _ _"He can't die as long as I'm alive," he repeated. "A part of him is inside me, and as long as that part of him lives, Voldemort cannot be killed. He can be AK-ed 100 times, but he'll keep coming back as long as I'm alive. Like you said: Voldemort__ will _ _die tonight, by someone's hand or another. But I have to meet him first. I know that now. I've been expecting something like this all along." Draco's head was shaking like he couldn't stop it, eyes shiny and despairing. "You said just now that you'll probably die tonight. Remember what you said last year? Something about how no one sends a teenager to the front line and expects them to live? Well, I'm the front line."__

 _ _"Harry-"__

 _ _"I have to go." Harry took a step back, out of Draco's space, but the other boy followed him, crushing his mouth to Harry's own, painfully. It wasn't pleasant, but it was everything he needed right then. Everything they both needed. The Gryffindor broke away, panting, and leaned his forehead against Draco's own sweaty brow. "I have to go," he said again. And so do you. Your parents will be looking for you."__

 _ _"I can't just leave you here to__ __-"__

 _ _Harry pushed him by the shoulders, forcing him back a pace, then two. "Draco, you have to go" The other teen let out a sob, and Harry stepped forward again and kissed him once more, softly. "Please."__

 _ _Draco stared at him for a long time before nodding minutely. He wrapped his arms tightly around the slighter boy and held him. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, shaking with the effort of keeping his tears at bay.__

 _ _Before Harry had to beg again for Draco to leave him, the blond let him go.__

 _ _"You know what you're doing?" Draco asked, and Harry nodded solemnly in reply.__

 _ _"Okay," he whispered, and, with visible effort turned himself away and began the trek back towards the castle.__

 _ _Harry stood for a moment to watch him go. It was not, after all, so easy to die. Every second he breathed, the smell of the grass, the cool air on his face, was so precious: To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second. At the same time, he thought that he would not be able to go on, and knew that he must. The long game was ended, the Snitch had been caught, it was time to leave the air. . . .*__

"Harry, Ron, Hermione! It's wonderful to see you all. Are you well?" Kinglsey Shacklebolt pat him gently on the shoulder, and Harry could hear the genuine concern in his question, see the worry in his eyes. It was the same worry he saw in Molly and Arthur's faces. In Ron and Hermione's, too, in the expression, they shared with the Minister. He was used to it after the last fortnight he'd spent in the burrow. He ignored it now.

"I'm fine, Kingsley," Harry assured the Minister. "I actually came to ask for a favour. You... you said I could ask if I needed anything, and, well with the, uh, with the trials starting this week, I wanted to make a few suggestions."

The tall man gazed at them shrewdly. He observed the three of them for a moment before gesturing toward the chairs in front of his desk. There were only two, and Hermione took the left. Harry looked to Ron, but his friend shook his head and leaned against Hermione's chair while Harry took his seat. The Minister meanwhile walked around to the other side of his large, mahogany desk and sat, arms folded.

"If anyone is entitled to make suggestions as to the proceedings, I'd have to admit I would be you. What exactly did you three have in mind? Between you and me, I don't think it will take much to petition the Wizengamot to go for the highest sentencing if that's what you have in mind."

Harry glanced to Hermione for support, and she nodded, if unhappily. "Actually, sir it's the opposite. I've got a few Pensieve memories here, just character uh, evidence." He pulled a few bottles from the pockets of Percy's hand-me-down suit and set them on Shacklebolt's desk. "So, this is from, uh," Harry picked up a bottle and turned it around to check the handwritten label, "Narcissa Malfoy lying on my behalf __against__ Voldemort, which saved my life." Harry picked up another bottle. "Dumbledore the night he died that proves Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape were innocent. Draco Malfoy lying on my behalf against the Death Eaters, and... This is Severus Snape's own memory that he gave me which shows him working for Dumbledore against Voldemort. I know he's dead, but he should have his name cleared, at least. I know these aren't much in the way of actual evidence, but I just wanted to show that they did help me when in counted." Harry looked earnestly at Shacklebolt as the Minister took one of the bottles, the one showing Dumbledore's final moments, between his large, dark fingers.

He went on. "I know that most of the Death Eaters were staunch supporters of Voldemort and his cause to the end, but some of them, the Malfoys at least, were forced to act as they did. Draco, Lucius, and Severus Snape all took the Dark Mark and I know that once they did they were unable to act against Voldemort directly. He could torture them through the Mark, I've seen it. They were compelled to follow direct orders, either through magic or threat I, I can't say. I just know that they didn't have a choice. I know that Draco took the mark when he was 16 years old, that makes him a minor. So for that whole year, what he did, he was underage and under, uh-"

"Duress," Hermione volunteered helpfully.

"Thanks. So he was under duress. Voldemort threatened to kill him and his parents, and I don't know what you would do in that situation if __you__ were 16 years old, but... And Lucius is a coward, okay. He's weak and he'd never go out of his way to get his hands dirty. I don't know what Lucius thought he was signing up for back when he took the mark initially, but I would bet it wasn't outright war." Harry inhaled deeply. "So what I want is this: question them, all of the Death Eaters on trial, under Veritaserum," Shacklebolt opened his mouth to protest but Harry cut him off. "That's what I'm asking for, and the ministry __owes me__ that much. The Wizengamot sentenced my godfather to Azkaban for a crime __he didn't commit__. I was stripped of my family because the Wizengamot couldn't be bothered to __ensure__ the truth at Sirius' trial. Because the __Ministry__ refused to find out who really killed those people and caused the death of my parents. So I think you owe me that much. I want you to question the Death Eaters under Veritaserum and find out exactly what they intended when they joined Voldemort's cause. Find out if they __really__ supported him, or if they were only acting because he would have killed them otherwise. Find out __exactly__ what they really did. And the ones who were forced to act the way they did should get some kind of lesser sentencing. Um, Hermione?" Harry passed her the proverbial baton.

Hermione sat up straight, looking ten times more professional and put together than Harry himself did. She pulled a folder out of her bottomless bag and passed it to Shacklebolt.

"I don't know the philosophy of the prison system __here__ , but in the Muggle world, at least theoretically, the point of incarceration is to __rehabilitate__ offenders to change them from the inside so that they don't re-offend. So if Harry is right, and there are some Death Eaters that haven't taken Voldemort's cause to heart, then there may be some chance to at least try to change the way they think. In that folder are some documents explaining Her Majesty's Prison Service; the Muggle British prison system. Voldemort held so much power and support amongst the Pureblood class primarily because of the prejudice they hold against Muggles and Muggle-born wizards, and the heart of that prejudice is ignorance. If their minds can be changed, it must be changed by way of experience. They have to meet Muggles. Live amongst them, work amongst them, serve amongst them. They have to learn about Muggle culture. It's only by changing the way Purebloods __think__ about Muggles and Muggle-borns that we can truly hope to change the way they," Hermione clenched her fist, " _ _we__ are treated in this society. I have spent the last seven years being bullied and, quite literally tortured," she angled her arm to show off the livid pink scars, courtesy of Bellatrix, "because of my blood status. My best- my __boyfriend's__ family, who practically __raised__ me, who are widely known to be Muggle sympathizers, don't know even the slightest common knowledge about Muggle culture.

"People like me are not going to be treated any differently by Purebloods if they don't know about the world I grew up in. It's the __magic__ world that must be secret, sir, not the Muggle one. I recommend that those offenders who can be rehabilitated serve their sentencing in Muggle prison, and those that don't warrant jail-time be ordered to service the Muggle community – there's information on the UK's Community Order system in there, too. I also recommend that Muggle studies be a required course at Hogwarts, at least for first years, though, of course, I'd have to discuss that with Headmistress McGonagall." The young woman's chest heaved as she ran out of momentum.

Shacklebolt considered their proposal for a while before nodding slowly. "Your ideas are good ones," the Minister conceded. I agree that tackling the roots of the prejudice against Muggle-borns is an important step in improving the status of this country. Of course, I will have to discuss this with the rest of the Wizengamot, but..."

"Of course, sir," Hermione agreed readily, and Harry sighed in relief that they were at least heard out. He hoped that Hermione's idea was implemented, but the fact that the Minister of Magic agreed that their issue was a valid one spoke volumes.

"What about you, Mister Weasley?" Shacklebolt turned his attention to Ron, who had been standing in silent support up until now.

"What about me, what? Uh, sir," Ron stammered.

Shacklebolt cracked a wry smile. "I've heard from Mr Potter and Ms Granger so far on the subject. What are your thoughts?"

Ron flushed and looked to Hermione and Harry for direction, but Harry only shrugged. "Well, sir. I mean, the Malfoy's aren't exactly on my list of favourite people, you know. There's certainly no love lost between our families. Malfoy, Draco Malfoy I mean, tormented us," he pointed to Harry and Hermione, "And Neville Longbottom, and all our friends for __years__ at Hogwarts. And my little sister almost __died__ in her first year because of Lucius Malfoy; I know that. I want justice for my family and my friends, Mr Shacklebolt. But... Harry and Hermione are right, sir. They should have __real__ justice. Not just... revenge, y'know? They, the Death Eaters, they should be punished for what they did, but the punishment should fit the crime. They might all be Death Eaters, but some of them did more than others, so they shouldn't all be punished the same, right? And what Hermione said about Purebloods not knowing anything about Muggles, sir? That's all true, and if learning about them might make them not so hateful then it can only help. Can't it?"

The minister inhaled and nodded as if a decision had been made. "You're quite right, Mr Weasley. Ms Granger, I'll look through this information presently. Your ideas are good, and your reasoning is sound. I suppose that I can expect to see you three at the hearings this week? We're starting on Wednesday; I'm sure you know."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled as he and Hermione stood, understanding that they were being dismissed. "And thank you, sir. For hearing us out."

Kinglsey smiled benignly. He walked around his desk and opened the door for the three of them, holding his hand out to warmly shake each of their own. "It was my pleasure."

Draco pushed the lank, dry fringe out of his eyes, scratching at the itchy growth on his face while his mother studiously ignored his father trying to start a halting discussion in the corridor.

They'd been arrested along with all the other Death Eaters still on the grounds shortly after the Dark Lord had fallen, though some had disapparated before the Aurors had seized them and Draco assumed some might still be at large. For two weeks the lot of them had been thrown into Azkaban to sit and await trial for their crimes. Draco remembered how terrible his father looked when he and the others had escaped two years ago, but he'd never personally been subjected to the humiliation that was a guard stripping one down and magicking one clean. And he was, technically clean, he supposed. There was a reason, however, why Wizards still made use of potions and elixirs in their bathing habits, and that was because when magic cleaned, it did so indiscriminately; stripping skin and hair of all dirt as well as moisture and leaving one uncomfortably dry and more than a little itchy without the benefit of exfoliation.

His mother managed to twist a simple French plait (though nothing like her usual intricacy, being wandless as they all were), but even she looked uncharacteristically haggard after a fortnight in prison. They all were visibly exhausted, dark bruises under their eyes, his mother unmade-up, he and his father unshaven. His parents looked older than they ever had before; defeated and resigned.

There was a score of others in the corridor outside the courtroom as well, all more or less familiar, but they were mostly conversing quietly with their own family members.

No one could give a shite about the Malfoys any longer.

"We've not done anything truly wrong," Lucius argued quietly to his wife, who was staring resolutely at the painted Cornish countryside hanging on the opposite wall. "None of us has truly harmed anyone," Draco flinched at the lie, "plenty of those in the Wizengamot still support the cause. They'll listen to us, and we've enough money to pay our way. We'll tell them we denounced him at the Battle. We didn't fight, so there's no proof except that we were there. We were prisoners as much as the rest. I swear, Cissy we'll-"

"Don't call me that," Narcissa snapped, coldly.

Lucius sighed, reaching out to take his wife's hand imploringly but she snatched it back before he could grasp it. Finally, Narcissa turned to him, and Draco heard his father's breath catch at the fury in her eyes.

"Do you truly think me so feeble-minded as to be swayed by your blandishing and blustering as if I've not been present for __every one__ of your failures?" she hissed, the icy wrath, though quiet, causing a hush to fall upon the gathered prisoners, all ears listening in.

"You cannot __obscure__ the fact that everything, every __single__ misfortune that has befallen our family has been __your__ fault. Your decisions have damned us. Even if we are not immediately convicted and thrown into Azkaban, our name means __nothing__ now. We have no reputation. We have no clout or influence among even the lowest born __squib__ , let alone the members of the Ministry; to say nothing of the Wizengamot itself.

" _ _We__ are not guilty. __You__ are. __You__ allied our family with Him. Not me. __You__ brought Him into our lives, into our __home__ because __you__ were too weak to so much as think for yourself. It is because of you, and you alone, that we are in this situation. Everything that we, that your __son__ has been subjected to has been your fault. Every action, every punishment, every consequence is because of your actions." Her chest was heaving; lips curled up in a dangerous snarl. The tension in the room was thick enough to be cut with a knife, and it was giving Draco a headache.

Quietly, anaemically, his father replied. "I thought I was doing what was right for our family. If the Dark Lord had won-"

"If he had won he would have killed us as examples to the others. We have been on thin ice for the last two years, Lucius, and you know it."

"We would have been made for life-"

"We were already made!" Narcissa screamed, her voice echoing through the halls. "We had everything, Lucius! Money, reputation, power. Our family would have never wanted for anything. Our son would have had every door open to him. Now we have nothing. We are nothing."

"I thought-"

"You thought wrong."

Draco inhaled silently, his eyes clenching shut, uncut nails piercing the skin of his palms. The unceasing wailing in his mind raised in pitch with his anxiety even as the silence pregnant silence around him began to ring in his ears.

From beside him on the bench, he could hear his father swallow and breathe unsteadily.

He couldn't remember his parents ever having fought before, and he thought his father couldn't either. Couldn't remember Narcissa ever being anything but supportive of his endeavours.

On further analysis, perhaps she simply chose not to fight what she could not change.

Lucius had been marked before they were married, Draco knew.

Narcissa made her choice, too, for better or worse.

"Malfoys!" The bailiff announced, doors opening to guide them into the arena. As they walked, Draco could see Harry Potter and friends sat near the front of the room and Draco didn't know whether to be grateful or despairing of his presence.

The court was seeing to the I through P named families that day and Draco assumed they must have been the second or third group. He wondered if he would find out how the others were sentenced, or if he would live in ignorance until the Dementor's Kiss.

There was a line of chairs in the circle of the auditorium, and they were each led to the three middle-most seats, taking them only when the Minister of Magic, a dark-skinned man he recognised only by his robes, whose name he didn't know ordered them to do so.

With a booming voice that belied constant repetition, the minister recited: "You are brought before the court as known supporters of The Dark Lord, Voldemort," each of the Malfoys flinched, and Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that many members of the Wizengamot did so as well. "Due to the vastness and severity of crimes executed by the Death Eaters, you will each be questioned under Veritaserum to ascertain your guilt or innocence of crimes against both Muggles and Wizardkind."

Draco heard his father inhale a gasp as the implications fully dawned on him.

There would be no claiming Imperius' influence this time.

The Minister handed a glass of clear liquid to the Chief Warlock, another wizard Draco didn't recognise, an older, white-haired man who poured three drops of the transparent elixir into it and approached them.

"Lord Malfoy, will you accede to drink the Veritaserum?"

They all knew that to refuse was to accept the guilt of all charges. "I will," Lucius agreed, and took the proffered glass, drinking down its contents to the Chief Warlock´s approval.

"Lord Malfoy, my robes are green, do you agree?" his robes were black, and Lucius replied in the negative after visibly failing to nod his agreement. The potion was working.

"Lord Malfoy, please recite your full, legal name," the Warlock commanded.

Immediately, Lucius spoke, the compulsion feeding on the direct order. "Lucius Roméric Jeustin Malfoy IV, Lord and Pater Familias of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy." Draco saw the scribe write down the answer, quill moving in a flurry.

"Did you take the Dark Mark?"

"Yes," his father replied, falsely confident.

"Was it your own, uncoerced decision to take the Dark Mark?"

Lucius´ eyes fluttered shut, and Draco saw his shoulders hunch forward, hair obscuring his face. "Yes."

"Did you volunteer to take the Dark Mark, or were you asked to do so?"

"I volunteered," he whispered, but the acoustics of the room picked up the sound.

The questions proceeded in this way for nearly an hour, asking Lucius to confirm or deny any and all possible charges.

Did he ever cast an Imperius on another human, Wizard or Muggle? - "Yes."

Did he ever cast a Cruciatus curse on another human? - "Yes."

Did he ever cast the Killing Curse on another human? - "No." There was some hope for him then, Draco thought, if only a little.

Did he ever personally and directly cause the death of another human? - "Not that I am aware."

The Chief Warlock asked Lucius´ involvement in every crime attributed to the Death Eaters during the last two Wizarding Wars, an exhaustive list that the disgraced Malfoy blessedly answered primarily in the negative. Draco sighed in silent relief that his father´s involvement seemed to be primarily auxiliary. He was asked his willingness to perform the crimes to which he pled guilty and was answered with varying degrees of inclination.

It was soon made clear to the court that Lucius indeed had been a loyal servant of his Lord, but one who was not disposed to get his hands dirty, even to further his Master´s cause. It was also made apparent that his willing servitude waned unmistakably once the true scope of the Dark Lord´s wishes was understood.

"He said he would overthrow the old, corrupt Ministry and put Purebloods back in true power. That he would reinstitute our culture and values and do away with Muggle influences that were poisoning our society."

"Did you know that this goal would include his followers being asked to murder other Wizards?"

"Yes." There were murmurings throughout the court, members of the Wizengamot scribbling notes to themselves. "But we were made to understand that any struggle to change the hands of power would involve casualties. That we were defending our way of life. That we were at war. We were told to expect a battle. We didn't... __I__ didn´t expect that we would be attacking innocents, unprovoked. I thought we would be focusing our attacks on ministers and politicians. I didn´t know we would be torturing and slaughtering families and children. I thought we would be stopping the influx and influence of Mudbloods, not killing Muggles outright.

"I thought that joining the Dark Lord would mean creating a world that catered to us; to the pure-blooded. I thought that my family would be rewarded for my loyalty." He was candid, his weakness of mind making him more susceptible to the truth serum, lessening his ability to modify his words. He didn´t make for a very sympathetic defendant, but for his father´s sake, Draco hoped he seemed more benign than some of the others the court must have seen.

When the court settled down after his father´s unsolicited defense, the Chief Warlock asked his final question: "If you had been given the option and the ability to switch your allegiance and revoke your loyalty and support of The Dark Lord, Voldemort before the Battle of Hogwarts, do you believe you would have chosen to do so?"

Draco heard the audience hold their breath, awaiting his father´s answer and saw the members of the Wizengamot lean forward in their seats as if to hear him better.

"Yes."

The room collectively exhaled, and Draco thought he saw faint looks of approval from the officiates.

The Chief Warlock looked to the Minister of Magic who nodded. "Thank you, Lord Malfoy. We have no further questions for you at this time."

Lucius sank back into his chair, exhausted from his ordeal, sagging with relief and resignation. There was nothing else for him to say.

Several minutes passed as his father´s testimony was discussed. Too soon, however, the Chief Warlock returned with another glass of water, this one too, spiked with the truth-telling potion. As he approached, the audience quieted themselves; their attention redirected to the proceedings. At a gesture from the Minister, they all fell silent once more, and the Chief Warlock offered the glass to Draco´s mother.

"Lady Malfoy, will you accede to drink the Veritaserum?" he asked, handing her the glass when she, too, accepted the potion. After proving her incapability of lying, he asked her name for the record.

"Cassiopeia Narcissa Black Malfoy II, wife of the paterfamilias of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy." Draco felt a thrum of vague discomfort at hearing his mother refer to herself by her first name, a name none of his family had ever called her by while her Aunt Cassiopeia still lived.

Like his father, they asked whether she had cast any of the Unforgivable Curses, or whether she had killed anyone by other means, to all of which she responded in the negative. In fact, she answered negatively to nearly all of the Warlock´s questions regarding her involvement with the Death Eater´s actions.

"Were you __aware__ of any of the actions that the Death Eaters, including your husband, were made to commit before they occurred?" Draco tensed himself for his mother´s damnation, but,

"No."

The teen forced himself not to react outwardly or to turn to his mother, though he saw in his periphery that his father could not stop himself from doing the same. He knew for a fact that his parents had spoken about the Dark Lord´s orders at length before the deeds were done, in many cases he was involved in such discussions. In others, it was Narcissa herself who gave warning for what was to come, and yet... He knew his mother was an occlumen, she had helped teach Draco himself, in fact, but that she had the skill to lie on Veritaserum was nearly unprecedented.

The surprise at her answer was palpable throughout the room, even the Chief Warlock himself startling at it.

"Truly, you had no idea of your husband´s misdeeds?"

Staring at her directly, Draco could see the minute warring in her eyes as she circumvented the question in her mind. "Not... before they were committed," she professed.

He could see that this was technically correct if one defined the word "before" as "before Lucius himself was given the orders", which... She could freely do, actually. Draco cast his mind back to recall the question and realised that the Chief Warlock gave no time constraint. Even his previous question didn´t specify that "before" actually meant "but after the orders were given". It was true that Narcissa could not have known of the Dark Lord´s orders for her husband before he gave them.

Draco marvelled at his mother's cleverness at finding the loophole within the Warlock´s questioning.

Frustrated by Narcissa´s foiling of his line of questions, the Chief Warlock demanded, "Lady Malfoy, where did you stand, politically, during the war? Did you cast your support for or against Lord Voldemort?"

Narcissa´s nose flared with irritation, but she answered truthfully. "I cast my support on my husband´s side."

"You were Lord Voldemort´s side then."

Because this had not been phrased in the form of a question, Narcissa chose not to respond. The Warlock grew increasingly more agitated with his mother´s lack of direct responses.

"Lady Malfoy, did you agree with Lord Voldemort´s agenda?"

His mother only blinked calmly. "Define His agenda, please," she requested, and the Warlock glared.

"Did you approve of him and his followers murdering his political opponents?"

"No."

"Did you, at any point, approve of him or his followers harming any wizard?"

"No."

Draco´s stomach tensed at the question he knew was coming. "Did you, at any point, approve of him or his followers harming any muggles?"

A tense pause, and then, "No."

The Chief Warlock spoke with clenched teeth now as he continued his questioning of his mother´s political leanings. "Did you approve of Voldemort´s desire to remove Muggle-born Wizards from the Wizarding World?"

Narcissa clenched her fists, head tilting as she considered her answer. "Not... necessarily."

Like a shark smelling blood, the Warlock attacked. "Did you approve of Voldemort´s desire to prevent Muggle-born Wizards from having social influence?"

Draco saw his mother grit her teeth angrily. "Yes," she bit out. He could see the other members of the Wizengamot relax and smile to themselves in grim satisfaction as his mother condemned herself.

"Did you approve of Voldemort´s desire to prevent Muggle-born Wizards from attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

"Yes."

Draco cursed inside as the audience muttered angrily behind him. He knew Granger would be righteously incensed.

"Did you agree with the Dark Lord´s plan to overthrow the Ministry of Magic?"

Narcissa inhaled and, once again, answered noncommittally. "Not necessarily."

Rolling his eyes skyward, the Chief Warlock, once again, rephrased his question. "Did you sympathise with the Death Eaters´ desire to overthrow the Ministry of Magic´s political regime?"

"Yes." As the Wizengamot discussed this answer amongst themselves, and before the Chief Warlock could question her further, she continued. "But that doesn´t mean that I wanted Him to win."

Her words seemed to reverberate throughout the chamber, and all the room´s attention refocused on her again.

"In my lifetime the Ministry has always been corrupt, ineffective, impotent, apathetic, and willfully ignorant of all social issues that have been placed before them. Not including the current administration, per se," she nodded diplomatically to the Minister of Magic, who merely raised his eyebrow at her, "I would have been in favour of a total overhaul of the Ministry. I did not, however, believe The Dark Lord would have been any better a ruler than any of the previous Ministers. In fact, I greatly doubted His ability to rule, at all."

Draco saw the Warlock prepare to reply to this opinion, and apparently so did his mother, because she went on before he could form his words. "I had believed that if my family could stay in line and keep our heads down, figuratively, that we could avoid the repercussions of this war, one way or the other. I hoped that my husband´s belief that our family´s involvement would be beneficial to us would turn out to be true. We were both wrong. If my son had not been forced to take the Dark Mark as punishment for his father´s failure in 2006, we two would have fled the country while my husband was in Azkaban."

Lucius regarded her in betrayed disbelief, and Draco believed he could nearly see his father´s heartbreak.

After a long pause, the Chief Warlock declared that he had no more questions for her.

Narcissa sighed deeply as she was released from questioning, and only now could Draco truly tell how tense she had been sitting. She looked at him and smiled in wan support. The chains holding their wrists were too short, and their chairs too far apart for them to touch each other, but Draco could feel his mother´s reassuring caress even across the short distance.

His mother had shown herself not only relatively innocent, in light of everything, but also a worthy and clever defender of their family, including his father.

It was all up to Draco, now.


	3. Part One, Chapter Two

Draco kept his eyes trained on his mother, soaking up the comfort and support even as the courtroom quieted once more. He did not take his eyes off his mother when the Chief Warlock approached him, coming to a stop only some scant few feet in front of him. With the Warlock came the eyes and attention of all in the court. The force of their gaze prickled at Draco's skin, and he felt a trickle of sweat streak down his spine.

"Master Malfoy."

Draco's attention was forcibly wrenched from his mother's stormy, ashen eyes and onto the white-haired interrogator ahead of him. The Warlock held the nondescript glass out to him, within reach of Draco's shackled hands.

"Will you accept the Veritaserum?"

With a shaky nod, Draco reached out to take the enchanted water. He flinched so hard when his fingers brushed those of the Cheif Warlock that some of the water splashed the shirtsleeve of his school uniform; the clothes he'd been wearing upon his arrest weeks ago, now (poorly) laundered and returned for the occasion. Without hesitation, Draco downed the water and the potion like a shot of particularly horrible whiskey, shaking his head convulsively as the magic took effect.

"You'd agree that my robes are green, yes?" The Warlock's robes remained the same jet black it had been throughout the proceedings thus far, and Draco tried to agree.

Draco nodded, "Ye- y-" his temples had begun throbbing with the effort of denying the truth. He tried again, just to be thorough. "Your robes are g- g-"

"My robes are what colour, Master Malfoy?" The Warlock asked directly, and Draco gave into the compulsion to be truthful, finally.

"Black, sir." The older man nodded, satisfied. "Please recite your full, legal name for the record."

"Draco Julien Aélius Malfoy, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy." There, that was the easy part over and done with.

Immediately, the Chief Warlock jumped into the same sequence of questions he´d asked Draco´s parents.

"Did you take the Dark Mark?"

Draco flushed, impotently. "Yes."

"Were you forced or coerced in any way into taking the Dark Mark?"

The teen met the eyes of the Cheif Warlock, now. From this distance, he could see they were a warm, medium brown, like the froth of his father´s Turkish coffee. With a sneer, Draco confessed, to the Warlock´s evident disappointment: "Yes."

The older wizard frowned, unhappily. "In what way were you ´forced´ to take the Dark Mark?" Draco could hear the quotations around the word and internally rolled his eyes.

 _Draco was dragged forward by Wormtail, the former Gryffindor´s form hunched unnaturally, but grip stronger than his frail-looking body would give him credit for. His mother was crying, held_ _back from him as Draco was pulled forward and forced to kneel at the feet of the Dark Lord. Draco wanted to vomit from fear and disgust;_ _the man – if he could still be called a man – looked more like an albino reptile; eyes red and skin pale as a corpse. When he spoke it was like a snake in the grass; a soft whisper before a strike._

" _Draco..." he hissed, and the boy could not repress a shudder. "I'd like to make you a deal..."_

"He, the Dark Lord that is, said that either he could kill my mother and me then and there, in punishment for my father's failure in the Department of Mysteries, or that I could take the Mark and accept his tasks, and we would live... provided that I did not fail as well."

The Warlock looked interested and dubious in turn. "You're saying You-Know-Who threatened to kill you if you did not take the Mark?"

Not a question, but Draco answered anyway. "Yes."

"And what _were_ these tasks you were given?"

" _Your task... are you... You're trying to kill Dumbledore, aren't you?"_

Draco resisted the urge to turn toward where he could _feel_ Harry Potter's eyes boring into him. "I was told to kill Albus Dumbledore and find a way for the Death Eaters to get into Hogwarts Castle."

"And _were you_ the one to kill Albus Dumbledore?" Draco could tell that the Warlock knew the answer to this one, face disinterested as he asked his required question. The teen couldn't help the relief this lack of actual accusation made him feel, and he shook his head in the negative.

"No. I disarmed him, but he was killed by, by... Severus Snape." It was hard to get the words out, the wound of his death still fresh."

Brown eyes flicked over his face curiously. "Did you know Severus Snape took an Unbreakable Vow to complete the tasks you were assigned if you could not?"

Draco startled back into his chair. His mouth was gaping, and his eyes widened. He was sure he looked a right idiot.

"...No."

"And were you aware that Albus Dumbledore was _already_ dying when he was killed?"

The shock did not lessen this time, and Draco could only shake his head and numbly answer in the negative. The Chief Warlock merely considered him for a moment before nodding.

"Have you ever cast an Unforgivable?" Draco had to mentally shake himself from the baffled stupor he'd fallen into.

"I cased an Imperius Charm on Katie Bell in an attempt to kill Dumbledore. I was also ordered by the Dark Lord to cast the Cruciatus Curse on Thorfinn Rowle, and by the Carrows to cast it on other students as a punishment."

With narrow eyes, the interrogator asked, "Would you have ever cast an Unforgivable of your own free will? Without the threat of pain or punishment otherwise?"

"N-" Draco paused, the ache in his head returning, and Draco's eyes fluttered shut in defeat. He forgot. "I... attempted to cast the Cruciatus Curse at Harry Potter once in a duel. It was in the heat of the moment."

The gasp that rang out through the room had him huddling in on himself. Even his parents were looking at him with shock and dismay.

"What stopped you?"

Draco let out a mirthless huff of laughter. "He hit me with the Sectumsempra curse before I got the words out." Now the scandalised attention was focused behind him, and Draco hurried on before he irreparably ruined the Saviour's reputation. "In Harry Potter's defence, he didn't know what the spell did when he cast it. He was expecting something else. We've already discussed it and given our forgiveness. There was no harm done."

This time the Warlock did snort in disbelief, clearly believing Draco to have circumvented the truth somehow. "I have seen the effects of the Sectumsempra, Master Malfoy. Do you mean to say that you have simply _forgiven_ such a grievous injury?"

 _Biting his lip and nearly snarling, Draco took his pleasure in long, pulsing waves, only barely having the presence of mind to aim for Potter's stupid glasses._

 _Harry flinched as the warm wetness hit his face, splashing against his lips and cheek, then up across his glasses, causing him to scowl._

 _As Harry sat confused and aroused, hair a mess, and covered in cum, Draco muttered a cleaning charm and set himself to rights. The Gryffindor moved to wipe the fluid from his face, but Draco caught him once again by the wrist and hauled him up. Taking Harry's chin in hand, Draco turned his head and licked a swipe along Harry's cheek, tasting salty skin mixed with his own come._

 _"Thanks, Potter," he said in a surprisingly sincere tone. "I really needed that. Consider yourself forgiven."_

Draco shrugged, slouching with false nonchalance. "Yes." It was, surprisingly, the truth. Draco _had_ forgiven Potter. Tensions had been high on both sides, and if Draco was honest, Potter's Sectumsempra was a fair retaliation to his own intended Cruciatus. The six weeks of brilliant sex that followed the encounter also went a long way in securing forgiveness; at least on his side. Apart from some questionably relevant information, Draco honestly had no idea what Potter actually got from the affair, but Draco is only human.

The Chief Warlock nearly gaped in incredulity before stepping past him. Draco twisted in his seat, seeing in his periphery that his parents were doing the same, and saw the older wizard approach the audience. He came to a stop in front of Potter, sat in the front row (of bloody course Potter got preferential seating).

"Harry Potter, can you confirm Master Malfoy's story?"

Potter jerked his green eyes to Draco's own, holding the stare even as he addressed the Warlock. "Yes, sir; I approached Draco after the incident and offered my apologies for injuring him. He gave his forgiveness, and I gave mine, and we came to a ..." A pink tongue fluttered out between his tongue as Potter looked away from Draco who prayed no one but he noticed the rush of blood flushing the Gryffindor's tanned features. "...truce," the other boy finished a bit lamely.

Clearly annoyed, the Warlock looked from one boy to the other, eyes narrowed. Draco knew he wasn't getting the information he had evidently been hoping for, and he couldn't help but feel smug at unintentionally thwarting the man. Surprisingly, Draco and his family weren't actually the villains he (or even Draco himself, if he was truthful) expected them to be. Still, he knew the ordeal was far from over, and there was no saying how the sentencing would turn out. He couldn't afford to let his guard down yet.

"Right," the Warlock drawled before stalking forward once more and reassuming his position before Draco. "Have you ever _successfully_ caused another human's death through your own direct actions?"

The teen flinched at the biting insult, though not actually sure which part it was that was meant to be hurtful. His spirits rose, fractionally, at the murmur of distaste that arose behind him, indicating that at least he wasn't the only one who found the man's remark to be in bad taste.

"I don't..." but the words wouldn't come. Draco huffed unhappily, raising his shackled hand to rub at the crease between his brows, massaging away the thrum of pain that arose from the unintentional lie. "Crabbe – Vincent Crabbe, my classmate – died the night of the battle in a fire he'd started, but he was there because I had taken him and Greg Goyle to find Harry Potter. I meant to pretend to try to take him to the Dark Lord. I meant to fail; for Potter and his friends to get away. I didn't think Crabbe or Goyle would act on their own. I was wrong, and Crabbe took it upon himself to ...apprehend... Harry Potter. He cast a Fiendfyre, which wasn't my fault, but it was still because of me that he died..." Draco trailed off, staring intently into his lap, fisting his hands into the fabric of his trousers.

"Is that it?" came the brusque reply, and Draco snapped his head up, staring into the man's cold expression and shrugged.

"I... think so?" He wasn't really sure, but the answer was apparently sufficient.

The Chief Warlock took a slow, deep inhale and stepped even closer until Draco could smell his woody cologne and feel the heat of his body. He had to tilt his head to look at the man, and he swallowed, audibly when after a long moment the Warlock still did not speak.

After an uncomfortably long time, possibly even a full minute of intense, invasive staring during which time Draco was not convinced the man was not using legilimancy, he asked: "Were your family not affected by the war, would you have supported You-Know-Who's actions or intentions?"

Draco had to avoid looking at his father. He was afraid of what his paterfamilias would think to know how quickly the answer came to him.

"No, neither." Because he knew his sentence, and possibly those of his parents were riding on his answer to this question, he went on. "I have no stomach for murder; have never done. I cannot support someone who would do so as casually and, and _gleefully_ as the Dark Lord. In fact, I can't support anyone who could be so, so..." he flung his hand out, irritated with his inability to articulate, then wincing when the chains to his shackles pulled painfully taut. "Someone who treats people's lives like they're nothing! The Dark Lord was sadistic and cruel and, and psychopathic. The only person more unhinged that I've ever met was my Aunt Bellatrix. Maybe Fenrir Greyback. But, I mean, I didn't want him in power. He _wasn't_ the answer. To anything. But I guess I can _see_ other people wanting to fight back against the other side, too because they _aren't..._ weren't... any better. Fudge, Dumbledore... No one else really treated people any better. Not really. Fudge and them; Umbridge; they all were happy to let as many people die as had to as long as they never actually had to _do_ anything about it. And Dumbledore, too, was perfectly happy to put all of our lives in danger all the years that he was alive if it suited _his_ agenda.

" _He_ let the Dark Lord in the school our first year when he _must_ have known. Knew there was a basilisk – or, if not a basilisk then _something_ dangerous – in the school our second year and did nothing about it. Brought a werewolf in our third year. Let Harry Potter compete in the TriWizard tournament our fourth year – I know there was a binding magic, but it was a _Tri_ -wizard tournament after all. Surely a fourth name could have been disputed. And letting someone he _thought_ was a trusted Auror perform physical punishment on a student. Letting them teach Unforgivables to children. Dumbledore knew of plenty of dangers to us as students, and he did nothing about them. He must have put Harry Potter in nearly as much danger himself as did the Dark Lord.

"So... No, I didn't support the Dark Lord. I really don't have any opinions about Mud- Muggle-borns... one way or the other. I mean, they're poor and common, and they know nothing about our culture, and they just generally don't understand anything about the magical world, but I don't want to _kill_ them. And Muggles are fine so long as we don't have to deal with them, I suppose, although I really don't know anything about muggles at all. So, I mean, I don't want to wage war on muggles. And I don't even really think we should keep Muggle-borns out of our world because they're just as good _at_ magic as anyone else and if they actually knew what our world was _about_ then they would be just like any other, I suppose. No worse than half-bloods and that lot, anyway. But I think it's probably not their fault they don't know anything if no one has seen fit to actually teach them what they're supposed to _know_. I don't know. I just know that the Dark Lord went about it all wrong, and I didn't like what he'd done or what he was doing or what he'd planned to do. I didn't like what he wanted _us_ , wanted _me_ to do. I wouldn't have supported him. If I'd had a choice. But... I don't think I would have necessarily joined the other side either. Because I think they were wrong, too. No offence, Minister." Draco was panting, and he was sure he was flushed unattractively, and he felt sweat beading on his hairline and under his arms. He hadn't meant to say all of that, but the compulsion and desperation had him spilling all of his opinions, and he wasn't sure all of them actually helped. He was fairly certain that insulting the Minister of Magic, his predecessors, and his comrades in arms wasn't actually a point in his favour at court.

"There was none taken, Master Malfoy," the tall, dark-skinned man allowed magnanimously, eyes glittering in what may have been amusement in spite of his passive expression.

The Chief Warlock shared a look with the Minister of Magic, who nodded subtly.

"I have no further questions."

Harry bit the cuticle of his left thumb as Shacklebolt and Maydestone filed into the antechamber, followed by the rest of the Wizengamot who slowly trickled out behind them. The Malfoys were left alone with the bailiffs and the audience while the Wizengamot considered the family's sentences.

He was truly surprised by the Malfoys testimonies; that there had been doubt and dissent even before the worst had come to pass. Even still, Lucius and Narcissa's confessions didn't shock him nearly so much as Draco's. Draco who _defended_ Harry's use of a deadly curse against him. Draco who said he didn't _mind_ muggle-borns – that was a real revelation. Who... brought up some points against Dumbledore, his beloved mentor, that even Harry had trouble disputing. Not when it was listed the way Draco had done. When Draco used Harry himself as an example. How can Harry argue when he is so tired – so mind-numbingly exhausted down to the very bone. Why, if Dumbledore had had the means and the knowledge, didn't he do more to protect them all?

Surely Dumbledore was not so callous as Voldemort himself? And he _did_ help them. Only...

Harry didn't have the energy to think about it.

"Did Draco Malfoy just say Muggle-borns – _'Muggle-borns'_ even, not 'mudbloods'! - are _okay_?!" Hermione hissed into his ear, and yeah, Harry noticed that. Heard him correct himself when he'd nearly misspoken, and that was probably politic, but the rest of it was truth enough.

"Yeah... I think he did."

"And did you see how angry Maydestone was getting? Like he was actually disappointed that Malfoy apparently _isn't_ the monster we all thought he was. Really, that's the most surprising bit, isn't it? That Malfoy could bully us all so relentlessly for years but actually not be that bad on the inside. I don't know if I agree with all that stuff about Dumbledore. It sounds to me like Malfoy would have preferred to be neutral, but you know what they say about neutrality. Well, people can't change that much, I suppose. If he'd gushed about the Light side, I'd have probably thought it was someone else just polyjuiced as Draco Malfoy. Still, he seemed pretty kindly disposed towards you, anyway. Must still be pretty grateful about what happened in the Room of Requirement. Did you know he actually meant to _help_ us there?"

Harry wasn't paying attention to Hermione's excited whispering, instead staring intently at the back of Draco's head. He looked, well, terrible honestly. They all did, really, all three of them. Nearly as bad as they'd all looked in the midst of battle. Sure, they were all clean, but Draco and his father were unshaven, and their hair somehow managed to look dirty without actually being dirty. His parents looked so much older now than they had been even the last time Harry had seen them some few weeks ago. And Draco was still as thin and gaunt and pasty as he'd been all sixth year, if not worse. Harry had been the one who'd spent almost a whole year more-or-less homeless, but Draco certainly had his own trials during these long months.

"Hm?" Harry hummed in question when Hermione shook him, reclaiming his attention. "What?"

His friend squinted at him in concern, the same face she and everyone else had been showing him ever since the battle, like Harry, was ill or something.

"All right, Harry?" She asked tentatively, scanning his face for who knows what.

"I'm fine," he shrugged her hand off. "What were you saying? Sorry, I was distracted."

"Yeah..." her scepticism was obvious, and Harry saw her physically bite her tongue on what would surely have been a lecture on taking better care of himself or something, but she thankfully let it go. "I asked if you knew that Malfoy had been on our side in the Room of Requirement," she repeated for him.

Harry's pulse raced at that, and he hoped to God that he wasn't blushing as he had when Maydestone asked about his and Draco's "truce". He really couldn't afford to let Hermione find out about their affair. Couldn't let it get back to Ginny what he'd done. But he was a shite liar all-in-all, so he didn't try now.

"Ah, yeah, actually." At her surprised disbelief, he shrugged and continued. "Not at the time, no. But he found me after I left you guys. Before I went to Voldemort. He told me all about it, apologised for Crabbe and all that."

Hermione twisted further in her seat, hand reaching out again, this time to wrap around his wrist. He thought he should be embarrassed that she could fit her fingers all the way around the narrow joint, but he'd always been slight, so it didn't really bother him anymore. "Right. You and he seem to do that a lot. Apologise to one another. Since when do you two have an _understanding?_ What was that about the Sectumsempra incident?"

This time he knew he was blushing, and he tried, vainly, to get out of her tight hold. "It was an accident, and I felt awful about it, so I tracked him down and apologised. He was about to hit me with a Crucio, so he didn't really have any high ground to stand on, so we called it equal. He was just, trying to return the favour during the battle, I guess. I don't really know." He rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at the sweat-damp curls there. This room was far too close and far too warm.

"I just don't understand why you didn't tell me about it," and was that hurt in her voice? Shite.

Harry turned again to face her, and yes, there was a distinctly unhappy look on her face as she hugged herself, pulling her hand away from Harry's wrist. He sighed and leaned into her, bolstering her spirits as well as he could. "It's not that big of a deal, 'Mione. It was just... private. That first time. And then the second time, well, there was a lot going on. It didn't seem very important in light of everything else."

His friend sniffed a little but leaned back into him, and Harry wrapped an arm around her. He was a bit glad Ron had elected to stay with his parents rather than come to the hearing if only so he could touch Hermione without worry. It wasn't as if he was _interested_ in her. She was practically his sister. Still, Ron could be touchy when it came to things like that, so he couldn't help but be a little relieved that the Weasleys had unanimously decided not to attend the Death Eaters' hearings, in spite of Ron's support earlier that week.

They sat like that for the rest of the interim, chatting quietly about the trial so far while the rest of the audience did likewise. In front of them, Draco and his mother had turned in their seats, leaning over the gap between them to speak quietly to one another. In reality, Harry was only sat some 10 feet away, but Harry couldn't make out their voices over the din in the courtroom, a hundred voices chattering amongst one another.

After perhaps three-quarters of an hour, the antechamber door swung open and Shacklelbolt re-entered the room, followed by Maydestone who took to the floor while the Wizengamot retook their seats.

When the room fell once again into silence, Maydestone indicated for the three Malfoys to rise before speaking:

"After much consideration, we have reached a verdict. Lucius Malfoy, you are believed to be guilty of conspiracy to commit crimes against the government. You have proved that although you may not have intended to involve yourself in the full scope of criminal activities that You-Know-Who would have you commit, you were, in fact, complicit in and accepting of crimes including murder, treason against the Ministry of Magic, and domestic warfare. For this crime, you are sentenced to seven years in Her Majesty´s Prison Belmarsh. It is our," here the Warlock´s face clouded, belying his distaste, "belief that you may be eligible for rehabilitation, and it is for this reason that you are, to be sent to a muggle prison rather than return to Azkaban. This privilege has not been extended to many among your ranks. For the crimes of casting an Unforgivable more than once, under duress though you may have been, you are also sentenced to life without magic. Your wand will be destroyed, and you will be prohibited from obtaining another following your release. For your involvement with You-Know-Who, you will forfeit your title and your properties to your son, and all liquid assets in your name will be paid in reparation. So mote it be."

Lucius released all the air in his lungs and staggered. Even from behind, Harry could see the dread warring with relief. He had lost his title, his money, and his magic, but he would not be sent to rot in Azkaban.

Harry could feel bruises forming under Hermione´s fingers where she squeezed his arm in tense anticipation.

He wished he could see Draco and Narcissa´s faces from where he sat.

With Lucius still shaking, shocked and raw, Maydestone addressed Narcissa.

"Cassiopeia Black Malfoy II, you have been found innocent of criminal offences, but for your association and involvement with You-Know-Who and his organisation, you are sentenced to five years of probation and 5,000 hours of servicing the Muggle Community, during which time you will be prohibited from using magic or leaving the British Isles. Failure to perform these duties will result in one year of muggle incarceration and a further five years without the use of magic. So mote it be."

Harry could see Narcissa heave a great sigh, watching as tension bled from her tight shoulders as she nodded her understanding. Lucius looked at her with naked relief and tried to reach out to his wife, but she studiously ignored him, instead turning to Draco and holding her hand out to her son instead, who took the proffered support gratefully.

Finally, Maydestone meted out the remainder of the disciplinary condemnations.

"Draco Malfoy, you have been found innocent of criminal offences. As you are of age, you will take up the mantle of Lord and Paterfamilias of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. As Paterfamilias, you are held responsible for your family´s crimes, and your household will forfeit one-half of all liquid assets. As You-Know-Who primarily lived within the walls of Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire over the course of this Second Wizarding War, you will relinquish rights to the property to the Ministry of Magic. For your association and involvement in the war and as a member, however unwillingly, of You-Know-Who´s organization, you are sentenced to 18 months of probation and 100 hours of servicing the Muggle Community, and obligatory repetition of your seventh year at Hogwarts with a minimum of five Newts taken and passed with an or higher, one of which must be Muggle Studies. During this time, you will be prohibited from leaving the British Isles. Failure to perform these tasks will result in either 10,000 hours of Muggle Community Service without the use of Magic, or one year in Muggle incarceration, and a further five years without the use of magic. So mote it be."

Narcissa sobbed audibly and surged forward in spite of the shackles around her ankles, nearly tripping in her haste to take her son in her arms. Draco was frozen in shock, clearly disbelieving that he could have been found innocent. Hermione swore in astonishment beside him as Harry slumped back into his seat. He hadn´t realised that he was sitting at the edge of the uncomfortable chair. He felt like he´d run a mile, heart pounding in his ears. All around him, the audience began to shout, loudly discussing the results. He could hear many voices, he thought some of them might be familiar, but he couldn´t be sure, protesting the leniency of the court and Harry couldn´t help but wonder how much more severe it would have been had Harry and Hermione not begged Shacklebolt to hear their testimonies.

He nearly missed Kinglsy announcing over the roar of voices that "Lord and Mistress Malfoy will be given until Midsummer to vacate the premises of Malfoy Manor and begin their service work. All parties are now excused. The Wizengamot will take a short recess before bringing in the next defendants," before they all retreated again. Not particularly surprising as the Malfoys had been something like the fourth or fifth family to stand before the court that day. Harry assumed they were breaking for lunch now before resuming.

As the audience followed suit, migrating slowly out of the main courtroom doors, a bailiff stepped forward and released the shackles on Draco and Narcissa. With her newfound freedom, Narcissa was able to pull the teen more close to her, pressing him to her bosom as she stroked his hair. This time, Draco held her back, squeezing her tightly. Harry three-quarters he could see his shoulders shaking.

"Cissy!" Lucius called in desolation as the Bailiff dragged him back to the doors through which the family had originally come.

Breaking free from the embrace with her son, Narcissa went to her husband, looking at him for the first time since they entered the room. The bailiff obligingly stopped for her, keeping one hand around Lucius´ forearm to keep him secure.

When she neared, Lucius reached out for her and, with visible hesitance, Narcissa placed her porcelain hand in his. He held onto her desperately, pulling it to his mouth to lave her palm with soft, heartbroken kisses. Still, Narcissa didn´t step closer, though Harry could just barely see that her face was nearly as broken as her husband´s. Finally, she pulled away, breaking Lucius´ grip on her. She pressed a kiss to her own fingertips before touching them to her husband´s dry lips, Lucius closing his eyes and sagging into the benediction before she turned away completely, going back to Draco´s side.

Draco and his father looked at one another for a moment, Lucius´ expression still open and vulnerable, and Harry thought he saw Draco´s mouth open to say something to him, arm flinching outwards as if to catch him, but the bailiff pulled him away, and within seconds they were back out the door.

By this time, the room was mostly empty. Hermione stood at his side, knowing implicitly that Harry was waiting to be able to speak to the Malfoys.

Narcissa took her son´s hand once more and turned to exit through the common entrance and startled at the sight of Harry and Hermione still standing in the front row.

"Miss Granger. Mister Potter. Can I presume that we have you to thank for our relative freedom?"

Harry glanced at Draco who looked drained and exhausted and nodded. "Ah, yes. I gave witness testimony on behalf of both you and Draco. And, um, it was Hermione who advocated for rehabilitation rather than just locking everyone up in Azkaban. Although, most of the others ended up there anyway," Harry shrugged helplessly. He wasn´t too sorry. If they couldn´t show remorse for what they had done, he doubted reeducation would do much for them.

"Thank you," Draco said quietly but earnestly. Harry just nodded back. "Um... Are the Weasleys not here? Only, I think I ought to speak with them," Draco looked at the empty seats as if the family were merely hiding.

Hermione answered. "No, they weren´t interested in attending. I´d wait until after Fred´s funeral to speak with them if you really have to. It´s on Saturday." Her lips pinched in sorrow, eyes wary of Malfoy even in spite of her willingness to help them. But Draco accepted the advice and turned back to Harry.

"Can we speak in private?"

Harry glanced at Hermione who was tense and hesitant, but Harry nodded anyway. "Yeah, sure," he agreed.

"I´ll meet you outside, Mother," Draco said before striding forward with a confidence Harry hadn´t seen in ages and dragging Harry out of the double doors by his wrist.

Harry would surely have bruises on them by now. Was he such a flight risk? He didn´t bother to complain though, and they two ignored the hungry eyes of the crowd littering the corridor as Draco pulled them into a men´s toilet, throwing the lock behind them when they found that they were alone in the room.

"You-"

"Draco-"

They spoke at once, and Harry chuckled. Draco stared and then sighed before pushing into Harry´s space and raising a hand to Harry´s cheek. "You look like shit," Draco said softly as his thumb stroked the ridge of his cheekbone. "Are you ill?"

Harry scoffed. This again. "Are _you?_ You´re not really looking so great yourself you know."

Draco tilted his head, acceding to Harry´s point. "Fine, fine, you´ve got me there." He was quiet after that, just staring into Harry´s eyes, searching his face for something Harry didn´t know. "Look, Potter. Harry. What you did for me..."

"It´s fine," Harry interrupted, and it was, but Harry didn´t feel up to explaining why he felt compelled to do what he did. But Draco shook his head.

"No, it´s not. Look, you don´t... I can´t... I can´t tell you how thankful I am, really. And I´d be glad to never talk of this again, really, but you should know, I... You saved my life. Literally saved my life as well as my livelihood, and yes, you also saved the Wizarding World and all that, but I am... grateful... for what you´ve done for me. So. Thanks." Harry wanted to laugh at how painfully awkward Draco looked, and if he weren't so generally terribly looking at the moment, he probably would have. But they´ve both had a long few weeks. Months. Years. And Harry can´t bring himself to laugh.

"It´s really fine," Harry said again, more gently. "I mean, you´re welcome, yeah. And thanks to you, too. For what you did for me." Harry didn´t elaborate, meant all the times Draco had helped him, even if Harry didn´t know about it at the time. Even if Harry didn´t know about it _now._ Draco seemed to understand, and he nodded, stepping closer until his forehead rested on Harry´s own.

Harry could smell him, and part of him was surprised to note that he wasn´t wearing his customary scent. Surprised that he couldn´t smell the crisp apples that had become a part of Draco´s identity in his mind. But then again, Draco was lacking a lot of things Harry had come to associate him with today.

Another part of his mind wondered at how odd it was that his scent was still familiar even without the cologne. That Harry knew the smell of that sweat and that skin already.

Draco nuzzled closer, nose to nose, cheek to cheek, Draco's rough and unshaven and Harry relaxed into him, arms coming up to grip his shoulders as Draco´s landed on his hips, thumbs pressing into the sharp jut of his hip bones.

Harry thought they must have met in the middle, but maybe it was just him moving forward, and suddenly they were kissing.

They had only last touched like this a few weeks ago, on the battlegrounds at Hogwarts, but it felt longer. Like it had been years since he had last felt lips on his own. Since he had felt something even remotely approaching ´safe´ or ´comfortable´. But here he was, and he did feel those things, and Harry melted into the taller boy as a tongue licked into him.

The two of them drifted until Harry felt a solid surface against his back, and, like they were just waiting for that added stability, their kiss devolved from tentative to devouring. Draco trying to conquer Harry, push into him as if through osmosis, and Harry wanted to open up and take him inside, possessively.

Without input from either of them, there were hands pulling and tugging at buttons and fabric, desperate to catch skin. Suddenly they were chest to chest, and Harry felt touch starved, _needed_ the contact more than he´d ever needed anything, and he could do nothing but hold on, hands roving the smooth, warm, planes of Draco´s back, skin already beading with sweat.

Draco´s hands opened their flies, shoving and manoeuvring until they were both bared, trousers down to their knees, and Draco´s _hand._ He held them both in his palm, and part of Harry thought maybe he should work a hand down between them to help, but no, that was too much and the thought evaporated soon after in favour of urging Harry to hitch one leg up onto Draco´s hip while the blond insinuated his own thigh between Harry´s own and just rutted. Hand striping the two of them in his grip, precome slicking his fingers, their cocks, their bellies as Draco fucked into his own palm, encouraging Harry to do the same and he couldn´t _not_.

Mouths sliding wetly against one another; nothing so coordinated as kissing anymore, just hot damp panting and biting and licking, and it was kind of gross, but Harry couldn´t _stop._ He _needed_ the contact, needed that taste of the other boy, or he would drown. Needed the breath of him or he couldn´t breathe, and Draco must have felt the same because he was pressing impossibly closer. His hand was flying over them. Too fast, too awkward, too much friction, but they needed it too much and all too soon for either of their dignity, Draco was spurting between their stomachs, spilling over his fingers, onto Harry´s cock to use as extra slick as Draco stroked him ruthlessly and Harry.

Came.

The tension that had been building for the last year seemed to finally pop, crashing over him like a tidal wave. White flashed behind his eyes and sounds were far away, like he was hearing them from underwater.

When he came to again, Draco´s head was pillowed on his shoulder, and Harry´s own was thrown back against the wall. He was panting and shaking, and he could barely feel his legs, would have collapsed if Draco hadn´t been plastered up against his front, holding him up.

"Draco," he gasped, fingers tightening on the back of the other boy´s head. When did he bring his hand up?

"We´ve been in here too long," was all Draco said, and already he was pulling away, and Harry shivered, uncomfortably wet and cold like Draco was taking all of Harry´s body heat away with his own. He only barely suppressed a whimper at the loss and the reminder of where they were. He sighed, letting his eyes fall shut when Draco stepped away wholly, turning to dampen a towel.

With Draco out of his space, Harry could feel the world settle back on top of them. Between them, even as the other boy returned with a damp towel, perfunctorily cleaning the spunk off Harry´s belly and groin. In spite of the detachment with which he´d cleaned him up, Harry felt long, deft fingers gently righting his pants and trousers and rebuttoning his shirt, smoothing away the wrinkles they had made.

"Draco," he said again, and this time Draco pressed a kiss to the side of Harry´s mouth. Soft. Conciliatory. An apology and a goodbye.

"We´ve got to go," he said when he pulled away, and Harry nodded unhappily. They looked more or less put together than they did when they´d arrived, though their mouths were bruised, and Harry was sure his skin was pinkened with stubble burn – not as unpleasant as he might have thought, actually.

The women outside would probably be able to tell, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care just then.

The door snicked as it unlocked. Draco pulled it opened, and they stepped out to face the rest of the world.


	4. Part One, Chapter Three

Narcissa stood silent, Draco pulled close to her side, her fingers digging sharply into the meat of his upper arm through his dark robes as the _ekphora*_ exited the tiny village mortuary and passed them by. They had flooed to the small wizarding village of Widowmere in Shropshire where her sister Andromeda had made a home with her husband and daughter. Unable to disillusion themselves without wands, Narcissa kept Draco and herself out of sight in a narrow alleyway near the village graveyard. Thankfully it was dark enough in the pre-dawn light that the two wouldn't be easily spotted by the procession, even with their fair heads.

Narcissa was less than sure of how her sister would receive them and resolved not to approach the grieving woman until after the burial.

The funeral procession itself was short; many of the friends and family of her niece and that werewolf either already dead or busy preparing for other funerals. The bodies, presumably already bathed and shrouded, galleons on their tongues, were pulled along in a plain black carriage and Narcissa felt her son flinch at the unfamiliar sight of the skeletal thestrals as they pulled it along the cobblestones.

Following the carriage were half a dozen Aurors in their robes, two elderly muggles Narcissa took to be Edward Tonks' parents, a number of strangers she didn't recognise, and Harry Potter alone at the rear pushing a shaded pram. Andromeda led the thestrals, looking drained and half dead herself, hair shorn months earlier in mourning of her late husband. Still, she had never more resembled their mad sister than she did now, wailing like a banshee and clawing at the black fabric of her mourning gown. Narcissa could see many villagers who lived along the road opening their windows to peer out on the ekphora as it travelled to the graveyard, weeping sympathetically at Andromeda's broken-hearted keening. Tears, too, travelled unimpeded from her own eyes as she watched them pass.

It wasn't until Harry Potter and the baby passed in front of their hideaway that they stepped out and joined the parade. Ever vigilant, Potter saw them in the shadows before they emerged, green eyes flicking from Draco to her and back, lingering on her son before nodding his head politely, uttering a quiet greeting for them both.

"Missus Malfoy. Draco. I don't know how happy Andromeda will be to see you here..."

Narcissa nodded her understanding while Draco remained silent. "Even so; now is the time to pay reparations for deeds past. It is my duty to show my respects for my sister's family."

"I'm glad," Potter said simply before turning once more to lead the way through the black gates of the village necropolis.

*

The _ekphora_ wound through the worn paths of the graveyard to a lot near the far left corner where a pyre already stood near to a marble _stele_ , carved and painted with the Tonks coat of arms. On the ground below were four slabs marking the graves of both Andromeda and her husband as well as her daughter and son-in-law. Of the four, only Andromeda's remained incomplete.

Once the group reached the plot, Andromeda ceased her screaming. As the undertaker lept down from the carriage, Andromeda fell to her knees before the funeral pyre, withdrawing an earthenware bottle which she uncorked, the content of which she poured into the ground in libation as she began to pray. The undertaker levitated the shrouded bodies one by one to the tall pyre, placing two finely carved pewter _larnakes_ within the open graves while the lyrist began to strum a hauntingly familiar melody.

With a flick of the undertaker's wand, the pyre was engulfed in flames. Narcissa held her breath along with all the others assembled, watching as the shrouds blackened and turned to ash, showing the pale, dead flesh through the raging flames. Her sister barely flinched from her spot before the fire, in spite of the intensity of the heat that even Narcissa could feel in the back of the crowd.

Above the sounds of Andromeda's fervent prayers and the intermittent sobbing from the crowd, the sad yet hopeful melody of the Song of Seikilos rang out, a lament Narcissa recalled clearly from her aunt and uncle's funeral years ago.

" _Hoson zēs, phainou  
Mēden holōs sy lypou;  
Pros oligon esti to zēn  
To telos ho chronos apaitei._"*

Narcissa cried silently, wishing she could be allowed to take her sister into her arms and offer what little comfort she could. From the corner of her eye, she saw Potter bend down to retrieve her niece's young son; though she assumed he must have cast a silencing charm around the infant as even now he didn't cry. Potter was, however, and he held the babe close to his chest like he could protect the child from the horror of seeing his parents burn. Or, perhaps it was young Teddy offering comfort to the Saviour. Narcissa would have shrugged it off, but Draco tugged free of her grip and stumbled over to stand next to the small hero. She watched, bemused, as the two boys stared at one another silently before Potter inhaled a shuddering breath and leaned his shoulder against her son's.

As the song came to a close, the undertaker extinguished the fire; the magic having allowed it to burn hotter and faster than ordinary flame, already reducing the bodies within it to dust and ash. He magically directed the ashes into their respective _larnakes*_ , and Andromeda herself stood and stepped forward. Kneeling in front of the graves, she placed a wand into each _larnax_ ; the ones belonging to Nymphadora and Mr Lupin. She then closed the lids of the ash boxes and stood, heedless of the dirt on her already ruined clothing.

"Woe is me," Andromeda cried, voice hoarse from the wailing and sobbing, but strong nonetheless in the quiet of dawn, "that I have lost my only daughter so soon after the death of my beloved husband. Woe is my grandson who has lost both his parents in this terrible war and left us each with none but one another. My daughter," here her voice broke, tears streaming carelessly down her un-made face, "and her husband both fought valiantly for this country. To protect us from the dark wizards who would have destroyed us all. They lived and died as heroes, and they will be remembered as such in our hearts. They were good soldiers, but they were better people: kind, honourable, righteous. It is not only we who mourn their passing but all of Wizarding Britain, for they will never see their like again in this world. I know that they have passed by now into the Elysian Fields to live in aeternam among the heroes of old. I only pray that I may be with them there upon my own death. I do not mourn my daughter, nor my son in law, nor even my husband, as I know in my heart they will be well kept in the House of Hades. I cry now for myself and my grandson, that we must live the remainders of our lives without them. I pray that th- _you_!"

Narcissa flinched and forced herself not to take a step back from the anger and loathing in her sister's eyes as she flung herself towards her.

"How dare you come here!" Andromeda screeched, brandishing her wand at Narcissa who did retreat now, unarmed and unprotected. She raised her hands placatingly.

"Andie, I know that I have hurt you in the past-"

"Do not call me that! You have no right to be here! It was you that killed them!"

Narcissa shook her head, pleadingly, "No, Andromeda! We've already been tried, veritaserum and all – we're innocent! We made mistakes, yes, but we've killed no one!"

Andromeda only cast off her reassurances. "No. No, every one of you is the same. Every one of you is guilty of my daughter's murder. And my husband's! The Wizangamot was wrong, Narcissa! You and your whole family should be in Azkaban along with every other Death Eater! Or better yet: slaughtered like our sister!"

Narcissa cried, silently, trembling. "Andromeda, I'm sorry-"

"Leave! Both of you," here she gestured to Draco who stood clutching the Boy Who Lived like a lifeline, "or I will kill you both where you stand!"

"Andromeda!" Harry Potter cried, and Narcissa saw him push forward, but Gawain Robards beat him to her, holding her sister by the wand arm and lowering the weapon.

"Missus Tonks, Please. Don't make me arrest you," Robards reasoned while Andromeda shook in anger.

"She's your sister, Andromeda. She just wanted to pay her respects," Potter defended her again and Narcissa wondered what she had done to warrant such loyalty from the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

"No," Andromeda denied. "My family disinherited my when I was eighteen years old. I have no sister. She is an intruder and a criminal and I want her away from here."

Narcissa wanted to argue, but Robards stared sternly at her and she relented.

"Very well," she muttered with as much dignity as she could muster. "Come, Draco." She spun around on her heels, avoiding eye contact with any of the gathered mourners and reached for Draco who took her arm willingly, glancing at Potter who looked back with an apology in his green eyes.

As quickly as they could, they made their way out of the graveyard and into the small temple, flooing back to the Manor as soon as they reached the fireplace.

*

In Narcissa's opinion, the Manor had not been a home to anyone since Lucius' arrest after that debacle at the Department of Mysteries, two years earlier. Since then, a dark aura had settled into the very walls of the house, permeating the stones of the foundation itself.

Her Pureblood upbringing instilled in her a deep respect and for the history of the old home – nearly as old as Hogwarts itself, in fact – and none could deny the aesthetic appeal of the Gothic architecture, the 18th-century decor, the garden, the vineyard. Family clout aside, there was a reason why Malfoy Manor had always been a hub of social gatherings. However, Narcissa had never felt truly at home there.

Lucius' parents had disapproved

of their marriage, her father-in-law having betrothed Lucius to Corban Yaxley´s sister, Veleda, while they were still at Hogwarts. When Lucius broke his betrothal to marry Narcissa, instead, his parents refused to allow her to live in their home, and instead, the two moved to a property in Normandy which Lucius had inherited upon his coming-of-age. They lived in that house for years, raising their son until Lucius´ father, Aloysius died of Dragon Pox in 1996 and Lucius officially became Lord Malfoy and inherited the family seat.

Even though Aloysius was dead, and his wife Juliette retired to a villa in Provence, Narcissa could only associate her new home with the frigidity with which she had been met during the early years of their marriage.

Then the Dark Lord had appropriated the manor as his own stronghold, and Narcissa became a prisoner in her own house.

While a part of her mourned the loss of the ancestral home, a larger, guilty majority could not help but say "good riddance" to so many years of unpleasant memories.

The Dark Lord and his followers had laid claim to the west wing, ground floor, and library while they lived in the Manor, so Narcissa and Draco avoided those areas as they had done for nearly two years now, arriving instead in the second-floor drawing room.

Narcissa ordered Flipsy to bring them up a light breakfast as Draco pulled off his formal robes and cravat, unbuttoning his high collar and shirtsleeves. While she sat primly on her favourite chaise, Draco sprawled on the window seat, throwing open the casement window and digging his cigarette case out from his waistcoat pocket.

Narcissa disapproved of her son's habit, but she felt she had given up the right to scold him when she had failed him as a mother so spectacularly. She said nothing on the matter, therefore, just as she said nothing about the drinking or the abuse of sleeping potions she knows he has been brewing. Since the trial, Draco has been much more open with his unfavourable habits, rebelling against the etiquette and traditions she and Lucius had demanded of him from a young age. She believed he was doing so in an effort to garner a reaction from her, but Narcissa would not push. She and her husband had caused their son enough grief in pushing him to be more like his father; if Draco wished to rebel he could do as he pleased. Perhaps the man he grew into would be better than the one they had tried to mould him into.

"I meant to ask Potter to give me my wand back," Draco said casually as Flipsy placed a tray upon the coffee table.

Narcissa poured herself an espresso and spread a spread butter and orange marmalade on a thick slice of bread. "We will be in London next week, I'm sure we can find time to stop by. I don't believe Mister Potter will deny you your wand if you ask for it."

Draco shrugged, blowing smoke out of the window. "Well, I certainly can't go to Olivander's. How do you know Potter's in London?"

She blew on the hot liquid before taking a small sip, savouring rich, bitter flavour on her tongue. "Did he not inherit his godfather's family home? I know where it is, of course. My father took us, girls, to see our aunt and uncle many times as children. You've been once when you were very small. I'm not surprised you don't remember; I don't think you had quite started your lessons yet.

"Hmm," Draco hummed noncommittally as he flicked the butt of his cigarette outside, leaving the window open as he moved to the settee opposite Narcissa, mixing cream and sugar into his espresso.

As conversation petered out, Narcissa stared out onto the vineyard missing her home in France more keenly than she had in years. She wouldn't be able to return there until her probation was lifted at least. Perhaps not until Lucius himself was released. If she would remain with him when he was released.

She looked again at Draco and mourned the life they had tried to build for him as she mourned the life she had built for herself.

*

Harry held Teddy close to his shoulder while Andromeda raged through her cottage kitchen, shaking with emotion as she slammed her cabinets.

"Andromeda, would you like me to make the tea?" he offered tentatively.

Andromeda snapped her head around to glare at him. Harry tensed nervously, but the woman only nodded tensely before sitting stiffly at the kitchen table. With a silent sigh of relief, Harry lifted Teddy and pulled a pair of ceramic teacups out of the cupboard. Quickly spooning tea leaves into the pot and using a quick Aquamenti he charmed the pot to begin heating.

"You looked awfully close to Narcissa and her son at the funeral," Andromeda noted accusingly.

Harry shrugged guiltily, patting Teddy's small back. "They joined us when we came out of the temple," Harry explained.

Andromeda sneered and Harry thought she wouldn't appreciate how much like her sister she looked when she did that. "You seemed quite friendly with them."

Harry sighed. "Andromeda, you know that I advocated for them during the trials. I am the reason Narcissa and Draco didn't go to Azkaban. I've forgiven them for what they did during the war; in fact, they actually helped me against the Death Eaters-"

"Too little, too late," Andromeda protested dismissively.

"Maybe," Harry acceded, "but I trust them. They helped me when it would have been more to their advantage to hand me over to Voldemort. Draco and I have never been what anyone would consider 'friends', but we've come to some kind of understanding in the meantime and I'm willing to move on if he is. Which he seems to be, so, I mean..."

The witch snorted, "They could have stopped it. Ted. Dora. So much of the war was their fault."

Harry shook his head, "They were in the middle of it, yeah, but they were helpless against Voldemort. I saw what went on at Malfoy Manor, Andromeda. You know that I had visions, I saw through Voldemort's eyes. I saw him torment them. Torture them just as much as he tortured the muggles and Muggle-borns. Lucius fell out of favour years ago, Andromeda. They didn't have a say."

She pressed her lips together, and Harry ignored the wobbling in them, flinching when the teapot screamed. Shushing the baby when he began to cry, Harry poured the tea into their cups and brought Andromeda's to the table before going back for his own half-filled glass, nose wrinkling discreetly in distaste as he had never been a fan of tea, really. The smell reminded him of Aunt Petunia.

Still, he brought his tea back to the table and took a few polite sips as Andromeda moved the conversation onward. Harry took her up on her offer to stay for breakfast, "I've still got some canned beans in the cupboard. I can't stand the stuff, but Ted used to take them with his toast, but now..." before he relinquished Teddy back to his grandmother, kissing her on the cheek as he wished her farewell, flooing back to the Burrow to prepare for his second funeral of the day.

*

"Oh! Harry," Molly startled as he tumbled gracelessly out of the floo. "How was the Lupin... How was Andromeda?" the matron gave a tremulous but sympathetic smile, patting Harry's arm as he dusts himself off.

Harry shrugged. "It went about as one would expect, I think. The funeral was nice until Andromeda caught sight of the Malfoys and started screaming."

"Oh dear," Molly muttered worriedly.

"Yeah, so it ended on a bit of a bad note, but other than that..."

Molly furrowed her brow, "Why were the Malfoys there do you think?"

Harry blinked, startled by the question. "Narcissa said she wanted to pay respect and make reparations. I guess she figured her niece's funeral was a good place to start. Probably a bad decision on her part, but she really did seem like she was trying. It was just bad timing, I think."

Molly nodded uncertainly but seemed to trust his judgement. "Well, as long as it all went well..."

Harry wandered upstairs, peaking into the room Hermione was sharing with Ginny.

"How was the funeral, Harry?" Ginny asked as Hermione flittered around the shared space, folding and packing for the journey she would be taking with Ron later that evening.

"It went all right. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy showed up, so that was exciting."

"Oh, I'll bet," Ginny agreed wryly.

"Are you all packed, Harry?" Hermione piped up from where she was currently trying to pick out her underwear from the mixed stack that Molly had washed for the girls the night before.

He confirmed that he was, but Ginny frowned. "You know you don't have to go just because Ron and Hermione won't be here. You're welcome to stay as long as you like. This is your home as much as mine or Ron's or any of the boys', really."

Harry only shrugged, awkwardly. "Yeah, I know, but... I mean, with everything, I think I really just need some time to myself. I think I'm going to go on holiday somewhere. America or something. India maybe. Or to the continent. I've never even been to France." Harry had no real plans, but he couldn't stay at the Burrow. He did know that none of the Weasleys would ask him to leave, or even feel that he didn't belong there. It wasn't about that. It was that Harry didn't feel like he belonged there, with them. Not after the War. Not after Fred died.

Truth be told, the Lupin funeral had left him more shaken than he'd expected. Andromeda's fulmination against the Malfoys had hit him hard, as all the blame the woman had laid on the Malfoys, Harry held against himself.

While he knew the Weasleys didn't blame him for Fred's death, that didn't stop him from blaming himself. Like the Weasleys, he couldn't look George in the face. But unlike the Weasleys it wasn't out of grief for Fred, but rather the guilt he felt when he looked at George. He missed Fred for his own sake, of course. Fred was a good friend and, in all honesty, a good brother to Harry, and Harry missed him keenly. But the idea of facing George

when Harry had all but killed the other half of him... it wasn't something Harry could take. So rather than stay in the Burrow, Harry decided to go his own way while his friends searched for Hermione's parents. It would be easier if he were on his own.

"Well," Ginny said grudgingly, "just... You don't have to. I mean, I'll miss you while you're gone. Oh! And McGonagall sent out letters this morning while you were gone, they're taking volunteers to start restoring Hogwarts on the twenty-third. Do you think you'll be back for that?"

Harry nodded, that sounded perfect, actually. If only it were starting tomorrow instead of three weeks from now. "That sounds brilliant, yeah. I'll write McGonagall and volunteer. I'll see you then, yeah?" Ginny's eyebrows furrowed unhappily and Harry tried to back out before the argument he knew was brewing.

"I'm gonna go see how Ron's doing-" he excused himself, but Ginny interrupted,

"Actually, Harry can I talk to you for a second?" She pulled him outside and closed the door for privacy, looking down the hallway to check for any errant siblings before casting a quick Muffliato around the two of them. "Harry," she started and he sighed.

"Gin, do we really have to do this right now?"

Ginny only crossed her arms. "The fact that there's a 'this' means that yes, we really do. What's going on, Harry? You've been avoiding me for a month. The war's over, Harry. There's nothing left to 'protect' me from, or whatever crap excuse you keep giving for pushing me away, and with Fred..." her voice broke and Harry could only just hide a flinch, "Just... now's the time when we really need to be there for each other, support one another, and heal but we can't do that if you won't talk to me!"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Gin, I told you. I just really need some space right now. I'm... I'm not in a good place just now. I'm just... not ready to pick back up where we left off," he admits, cautiously.

Ginny gasped, taking a half a step back. "Are you- are you breaking up with me right now?" she asked incredulously.

Harry shook his head and came forward, hands out placatingly. "No, not... I mean, we've been on a break all this time, right? I just need to – extend that, a little longer. Just until I figure some things out. I just... I don't know what I want right now. What I need. I just know that I can't really be with you until I know I can actually be with you."

Ginny scoffed, shaking her head. "Whatever, Harry. Let me know if you actually get things 'figured out'". Harry watched as she stalked back into her room, slamming the door behind her. Harry watched, resigned, coming fingers through his messy hair as he wished there was an easier way to just go back to the way things had been before.

If he was honest, he knew he wasn't getting back together with Ginny. Not after everything that had happened with Malfoy. He didn't know how he could ever admit that he had cheated on Ginny – because, yes, he knew now that that's exactly what he had done. How could he tell her that? How would the Weasleys react? He could lose them all. Lose Ron and Hermione even. Maybe he was a coward, but he couldn't face the idea of losing everyone he loved. He couldn't stand to be around the Weasleys right now, but he would get over that. He had to. They were his family now. They were all he had left.

*

Harry huffed with effort as he and the other Weasley boys bore Fred's casket up the stairs and into the small village chapel. He's momentarily startled by the strong smell of incense and doesn't quite make out what the priest says as he sprinkles water over the casket. The priest is dressed all in black as are the others with him, but Harry can't tell who is who. The Dursley's never brought Harry along with them to church, his Sunday ritual normally having been to have food ready by the time the family returned.

"Procedamus in pace," says one of the men, which Harry mentally translates to "proceed in peace", thanking the Latin foisted on him at Hogwarts as he and the other boys trail the priests and … altar boys? down the aisle, the choir singing hauntingly as they proceed:

" _Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine:  
et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,  
et tibi reddetur votum in Ierusalem:  
exaudi orationem meam,  
ad te omnis caro veniet.  
Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine:  
et lux perpetua luceat eis_."*

Once they've placed Fred's body where they bid to, they're gestured to sit and Harry does so gratefully. After Remus and Tonks' funeral earlier, he was expecting more use of magic, and was vastly underprepared for physical labour, lamenting his poor shape. Although they had spent much of the last few months walking from place to place, his lack of proper nutrition and general physique made for weak physical prowess.

Harry sits close to Hermione, Ron on her other side holding her hand as the priest continues the mass. Harry wishes he could hold her hand as well, but leaves the couple to themselves instead.

He doesn't pay much attention to the readings, unable to take his eyes from the wooden box holding Fred's remains. Before his eyes flash the memory of Remus and Tonks burning into ash that morning. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust he recalls and imagines Fred disintegrating as they did. He supposes it wouldn't matter to them one way or the other what happens to their bodies; they won't feel the passage of time as it eats away at what remains of their flesh, nor did Remus and Tonks feel the heat of the fire as it licked them. They would feel neither hot nor cold, comfortable in the thick mist of the afterlife.

He wonders if they, too, would pass through the ghostly version of King's Cross as he did. If Dumbledore was there for them at the moment of their passing. He wonders which train they took and where they are now; if they are with their family and friends who came before them. He knows that Remus reunited with Sirius and Harry's parents. He wonders if Tonks joined him wherever they are. If Fred did.

He hopes that his mother takes as good care of Fred as Molly has taken of Harry all these years.

He wishes he could take Fred's place at her side and give George back his twin. His heart twinges in longing and mourning both. Stomach clenching around the guilt that has sat in him like a stone this past month while the bodies of the Dead have been processed and causes of death determined as if it even matters.

He wonders if, when it comes time to determine the cause of his own death, it will show the Slytherin-green evidence of Voldemort's killing curse; if his first death will confuse them. If there will even be proof of his second death at all, or if it will merely show that he has been dead all along.

An inferi.

A ghost.

*

He bears the casket once more out into the graveyard, breathing for the second time that day the scent of grave dirt and cool mist of unsettled spirits. Finally, the priest unsheathes a wand and lifts their heavy burden from their arms, lowering the casket into the open grave.

Stepping back, the Priest once again intones, " _Commendamus autem misericordia tua, clementissime Pater anima fratris nostri abiit in terram suam iubemus tellus tellus cinis cinerem spargens cinerem. Et rogamus tuam infinitam bonitatem et da nobis gratiam vivere tuum timorem et amorem et mori in tuam gratiam, ut cum Iudicii dies advenerit, quæ operabaris tuo dilecti Filii, et hoc nostrum fratrem et nos may be found in conspectu tuo semper. Praesta, Pater piissime, propter Iesu Christi salvatoris nostri tantum, Mediatorem et Advocatum. Amen_."*

Once he's finished, the Weasleys each bend to take a fistful of the black dirt, and Harry follows suit, as they toss the dirt onto Fred's casket.

" _Et audivi vocem de caelo dicentem" the priest intoned once more, "'scribe: beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur amodo.' 'Iam dicit Spiritus ut requiescant a laboribus suis opera enim illorum sequuntur illos.'* Regi autem saeculorum, inmortali, invisibili soli Deo, honor et gloria in saecula saeculorum_. Amen "

"Amen," the crowd responds, and Harry in kind.

Molly is sobbing into Arthur's chest. All the Weasleys are crying, along with most of the other attendants, many of whom Harry even recognises. George is dry-eyed, but blank-faced in the same shock that has consumed him since Fred's death, as if he can't bring himself to accept that Fred is gone, let alone the ceremony of his inhumation. He is reminded in contrast to Andromeda's loud wailing. If he were to have guessed he would have attributed the dignified stoicism to Andromeda's pureblood upbringing, and the unselfconscious public mourning to the Weasley's usually boisterous natures. He wonders now about the cultures into which they've grown up. He knows he himself has lived a sheltered life, unaccustomed to the cultures of both wizards and muggles alike, but now he wonders just how different the world that the Purebloods inhabit truly is from the modern, muggle influenced one that Harry has seen living with the Weasleys, and to what extent it has shaped them.

They make it back to the burrow, eventually, the Sun low on the horizon. They have little time to settle, however, and Ron is forced to hold his ground as his mother pleads for them to stay and have one last dinner before they go.

"We've got to go, Mum," Ron entreaties, "our port-key leaves in half an hour."

"So take one tomorrow!" Molly begs, but Ron only shakes his hand, wrapping his long arms around the older woman.

"We've got to go," he says again, thickly. Molly hugs him tightly, releasing him only to pull Hermione and Harry into her warm embrace.

"You're sure you've got to go as well, Harry? There's no need for you to rush!"

Harry smiles thinly, awkwardly. "No, like I told Ginny, I'm actually going on Holiday for a while. Until Midsummer, at least."

"Oh?" Molly

inquires as Ron and Hermione eye him curiously, "Whereabouts are you going then?"

"America," he decides off the top of his head. "I'm taking the first port-key tomorrow morning, but I'll be spending the night at Grimmauld Place, making sure everything's all set for my leaving." Not that he's spent any time there since the War ended. Or as if he actually plans to leave at all. "I'll call 'round in a few weeks. When I get back," he promises before she can protest.

"Well, we've got to be off," Hermione cuts in, insistently. "We'll write to you once we get there, keep you all up to date with what's going on. Harry, you'll write to us when you get back, yeah?" Harry agrees, feeling the guilt at lying to his friends but unable to help it, needing the solitude after all this time.

"'Course."

With one last hug from Ron and Hermione and a pat on the shoulder from Arthur, they're off. Ron and Hermione flooing to the Key Port, bound for Australia. Once they've disappeared, he steps into the floo himself, and in a flash of green flame, finds himself in the dark, dusty parlour at 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Home, sweet home," he says to himself as the heavy silence settles in around him. 


End file.
